


commonalities

by cersc



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Borgias (Showtime TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Childbirth, Crossover, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Secrets, Fluff, Forbidden Love, New Baby, Parallels, Power Couple, Pregnancy, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cersc/pseuds/cersc
Summary: For a time, it looked as if Rhaegar Targaryen might be the next king — beautiful, solemn Rhaegar with his distant eyes and his distant thoughts.Then Robert Baratheon caved his chest in with that great, heavy warhammer, and it looked as if he might be the next king, with those bright eyes always gleaming with joy or cruelty or perhaps a little of both.Then Cesare Borgia ran him through, spilling his lifeblood with a single, well-placed thrust of the sword, and claimed the Iron Throne for his own.(A GOT Secret Santa gift for Lauren, who loves Lannisters and Borgias as much as I do.)





	1. keeping secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tywinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tywinning/gifts).



For a time, it looked as if Rhaegar Targaryen might be the next king — beautiful, solemn Rhaegar with his distant eyes and his distant thoughts.

Then Robert Baratheon caved his chest in with that great, heavy warhammer, and it looked as if _he_ might be the next king, with those bright eyes always gleaming with joy or cruelty or perhaps a little of both.

Then Cesare Borgia ran him through, spilling his lifeblood with a single, well-placed thrust of the sword, and claimed the Iron Throne for his own.

He looks as if he belongs there. Jaime cannot deny it — his brother-by-law looks just as a king should look. They have not known each other long, the king and the knight, but Jaime would wager Cesare has the right mind for the position, too — cunning and sharp and wicked, when times call for wickedness.

In some ways, he reminds Jaime of Cersei.

And just as well, given that they _are_ married. Jaime hates how well they get on only slightly less, he thinks, than he would hate it if Cersei could not stand the sight of her husband. She assures him regularly, sweet words whispered at his ear as teeth nip at its lobe, as her soft, slender hands roam the planes of his body, that he is the only one that she wants; that she _likes_ her husband, certainly, but does not love him.

Yet can that be true? Cesare is handsome, without a doubt, and brings Cersei with him when the small council meets, seeking her thoughts the same way he seeks those of his advisors. It means something to her — quite a lot, Jaime thinks.

But perhaps it is just because Cesare grew up with a sister, too.

Lucrezia seems perfectly comfortable navigating the oft-tumultuous waters of the royal court. At first, Jaime thought she reminded him of Cersei, too, and they do share certain similarities: golden curls tumbling over their shoulders, sweet smiles capable of hiding the most deadly venom, a capacity for great secrecy. But Lucrezia’s step is ever-so-slightly lighter than Cersei’s, her heart and mind ever-so-slightly less guarded.

Cesare told Jaime once that he has no qualms valuing a woman’s opinions the way some men do because his sister taught him just how valuable they can be. Jaime hopes, in a decidedly jealous manner, that is indeed the _only_ reason.

Of course, he has seen things that would serve to strengthen the king’s claim even as they raise doubts about other matters. Has seen Lucrezia walking through the halls nearest her brother’s bedchamber at the earliest hours of the morn, offering only one of those smiles of hers as she passes, leaving Jaime to wonder if it is not too early for the king to be holding any sort of official meetings. Has noticed the glances that pass between the two of them — and wondered if he is only imagining that they look much the same as those he shares with Cersei.

It could be, he thinks, that perhaps there is more in common between the pairs of them than he had previously expected.


	2. making secrets

It was Cesare himself who roused Jaime from his slumber, eyes bright and alert even given the late hour. “The babe is coming,” he said, and that was all Jaime needed to hear to feel just as awake as his brother looked. The babe — Cersei’s babe. _His_ babe. Their little prince. “You should be there,” Cesare added, and Jaime’s cheeks had flushed at the implication.

He always wanted his sister to bear his child. Always hoped she wanted the same. Yet never dreamed he would be recognized as the babe’s father, and it felt _good_ , even if the fact _is_ only acknowledged by two others.

Their son comes into the world strong and healthy, a pair of lungs like a lion’s on him as he roars his first cries. And Cersei — oh, Cersei is strong and healthy too, and radiant, as suited to motherhood as she is to queendom. Jaime’s chest hardly feels big enough to contain his heart as the babe is placed into his mother’s arms for the first time. They are golden and perfect and _his_.

Lucrezia dabs a cool, damp rag over Cersei’s hairline and the nape of her neck, cooing sweetly over the boy and reassuring Cersei that she did beautifully, that she is so strong. Jaime agrees — says as much aloud, and feels his heartbeat speed up at the beatific smile Cersei bestows upon him when he does.

“What will you name him?” Cesare asks from Cersei’s side, brushing the pad of his thumb ever-so-lightly over the babe’s plump cheek. Of all the men in the world, he is the only one Jaime would not have objections to the world recognizing as the father of his child — he will make a good father, in fact, even if not by blood. (Not to this infant, at least; Jaime sees the light in Lucrezia’s eyes as she looks at the blanket-wrapped bundle in Cersei’s arms, and hopes she will have one of her own soon enough — she will make a good mother, too.)

“Joffrey,” says Cersei. A name she and Jaime have considered for some time; a name she knows he likes. His smile feels as if it is wide enough to split his face in two. “Joffrey of House Borgia, first of his name.”

“Joffrey,” Cesare repeats — and Lucrezia echoes it fondly just after. “A perfectly suited name.” Glances at Jaime and raises a brow. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says through the lump in his throat. And he means the name, yes — but he also means every little thing about the scene before him, the scene he is so lucky to be a part of.


End file.
